Keep My Secrets by Elena Wilkes (large ebook reader .txt) 📗

they were. I knew everything, you see. Oh, I’ve put your clean clothes over there.’ He gestures towards the chair as though this is a normal conversation.

‘I knew that once he was out, you’d be like magnets for each other.’ His smile winces. ‘It was inevitable. I couldn’t stop it… You need to get dressed, Frankie. We do need to get a move on.’

She has a feeling that she’s just an automaton. Her body is functioning, but her brain has gone into survival mode: Put clothes on, get your shoes on, get out of here. It doesn’t matter how you do it. Stay calm. Stay focussed.

‘I couldn’t prevent it. I knew that. I thought about it long and hard, and I came to the conclusion that if I couldn’t stop it from happening then I’d just have to find a way to control it… And by the way, don’t worry, I’ve packed us a picnic for later and I know you’re exhausted but you’ll be able to sleep in the car.’

This is a dream, her brain tells her. You are imagining all this, none of this is real.

She pulls on her jeans. The action is so familiar. The impossible incongruous ordinariness of the action jars.

‘There was no way I could have him getting out on parole and walking the streets. I knew he’d try to find you. Something had to happen, and that something was Peter Vale. Only that didn’t work out either. This is what happens when you delegate work,’ he chuckles. ‘No one ever does the job as well as you would do it yourself.’

‘You knew that Peter Vale attacked Martin?’ she hears herself saying.

Alex frowns as though she’s just asked something stupidly obvious.

‘Of course!’ He checks his watch. ‘This is taking longer than I’d planned. Have you got enough layers on there, do you think?’ He catches her shoulder and turns her round to look at the back of her hoodie, pulling it down to neaten it. ‘You’re so beautiful, you know that?’ He kisses her temple. His saliva is cold on her skin. ‘We need to wrap up warm where we’re going. Come on.’

Her head feels like glue; her feet wade across the floor as though she’s walking through deep snow. He knew Peter. How did he know Peter?

He goes ahead of her out of the bathroom and down the stairs. She sees the rectangle of the front door with the arch of the skylight over the top. Just through that thin pane of glass is the outside world where she will be free; she will escape. There are people out there, people who will help. She suddenly realises she doesn’t have her phone.

‘By the way, I’ve got your phone here If you’re looking for it.’ Alex doesn’t look round. ‘It was in your jacket pocket. You don’t want me throwing that away, do you?’ He chuckles and opens the door to the kitchen. A wall of heat hits her. The Rayburn is going at full pelt. There’s a bag of what looks like rags on the floor next to it. Alex goes over and opens the bottom fire door. There’s an instant crackle and a pall of smoke. He dumps the sack, and crouches to pull something out. It’s a shirt with blood on it. Frankie takes a step back as he feeds it into the licking flames and shuts the door.

‘Your clothes can just go straight in the bin. Won’t be a sec.’

She watches him walk to the back door and across the patio and she immediately runs into the hallway, desperately yanking at the front door catch but it won’t give. A tiny cry freezes at the back of her throat as she tries again but she can see the metal deadlocks are holding it fast. She spins round. No, this can’t be happening… No…

‘You got everything you need?’ Alex’s voice calls out from the kitchen. ‘I’ll just put this last lot on the Rayburn and we’ll be away. Don’t fret.’

She stands, dumbly. As soon as he opens that front door. The minute she thinks she can make a run for it…

‘Right… Here we go.’ He appears with his coat on and a large wicker picnic basket slung over one shoulder. The bizarre incongruity of this whole situation leaves her breathless.

‘It’s still really early. You’ve got everything, have you? Jacket? Bag? I told you to wrap up warm.’ He tuts. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll catch much traffic. What do you think?’

‘No.’

Her eyes are darting everywhere. His hands, the keys, the lock, the madness of a picnic basket. His fingers shake out the set of keys from his pocket and he unlocks the deadbolts and then the main lock. The door opens a little. She can smell the early morning air. It’s out there. All she has to do is—

Alex pauses, holding on to the door edge.

‘I want us to start again, Frankie. I want us to be a family: you and me and Chloe. Now there’s just us. Everything else has been taken care of, so we can, can’t we? The three of us.’

His face is open and pleading. She sees it all there: his love for her, how much he wants this. He’s almost begging. A sudden thump of realisation stops her heart, dead.

‘How do you know her name?’

‘What?’

‘How do you know Chloe’s name? I never told you. I never said. I only told you I had a daughter… How do you know it, Alex? Who told you?’

‘Jack.’ He smiles.

‘Jack?’ She can’t take it in.

‘I was with Jack at the party that night.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘That’s how I know everything.’

Her head feels like it might explode. She sees Jack with his white buzz-cut hair coming down those stairs that night and tries to picture the boy with him.

‘—But no, I actually met Chloe and introduced myself.’

A creeping stone of terror forms a hard ball in her gut. ‘You did what?’

‘Last night when Peter Vale was trying to smuggle her